


strange remembrance

by maddy_does (favefangirl)



Series: Merthur Week 2021 [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Modern Era, No beta: we die like men, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/maddy_does
Summary: Arthur rises, and neither he nor Merlin know how to cope.Day 1 ofmerthur week 2021Prompt: "I can't think straight with you"
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merthur Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211165
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Merthur Week 2021





	strange remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the admins for running this event! <3

Merlin can sense it straight away. He’s sat in a Costa drinking an overpriced hot chocolate and trying to get some paperwork done even though it’s technically his day off, when a feeling stirs in the pit of his stomach. Instinctively he knows what it means. He leaves the hot chocolate unfinished, and barely has the mind to tuck the work into his backpack before he’s rushing out of the shop. 

He goes home. He throws his backpack onto the sofa, and paces in the living room until he feels dizzy. The feeling is still there, an awful tug in his chest like a fisherman’s wire caught on his lungs. He can almost hear Kilgharrah's voice, a distant thing, commanding him to _go, Merlin, you must_ , but he ignores it. He throws himself back into his arm chair and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees patterns of colour. He gets up and opens a window because there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room. He leans his head out to let the chill of the night air bite at his cheeks - night? When did that happen?

He steps back into his flat and looks at the door. He’d be there in under an hour if he sprinted all the way, and he could. He’s not a runner, but by magic he could do it. He thinks it might be magic that’s compelling him to go. It feels unnatural to be fighting against it, like trying to hold your breath while your brain and your body are crying out for oxygen. He sits back down and nibbles at the side of his thumb, staring unseeingly across the room. He feels antsy, leg bouncing, and has to get back up again soon after. He paces once more, between his coffee table and his sofa, until he’s worried he’ll wear a hole in the carpet.

He makes a tea, because Mrs Evans next door swears by it in a crisis. The kettle has been boiled at least ten minutes before he remembers about it, and then he’s not got any milk, and the first sip he tries to take burns his tongue so that the inside of his mouth feels coarse against it. He chucks the rest down the sink. He goes to sit back on the chair. He rests his chin on clasped hands, and flicks his eyes to the clock. 7pm. He’d gotten home at 1. He puffs up his cheeks with air, then slowly blows it out. He goes light headed and has to close his eyes. An hour goes past, or longer, and he looks back at the clock. 7:05.

He gets up again and goes to close the window because it’s getting too cold, then leans his forehead against the glass until his face hurts. He throws himself back into the chair and starts tapping rapidly on the arms, before squeezing his hands into fists. He cracks the knuckles on both hands, before getting up again. He opens the fridge to stare at all the food in there, before grabbing the apple juice from the door and taking a long drink straight from the carton. 

He freezes.

No- there it is again, a knocking at the door like thunder in the silence of his small flat. He kicks the fridge door closed and leaves the open carton on the side as he enters the living room. He stares at his front door until, again, hard banging against the wood. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms dampen with sweat, and he feels the urge to claw at his own skin. He already knows who's going to be on the other side - he can sense him even through the door.

Taking a deep breath, he walks forward. He flinches when the banging comes again, and places a hand on the doorknob. After one final, shaky inhale, he turns the knob and pulls the door open. He has to lean against the door to keep himself upright. He knew, he’s known all day, he’s felt it was him. But to see him, standing in the hallway, dressed in his armour the way he was when Merlin last saw him outside of his dreams, it’s a lot. It’s been _so long_ , centuries, lifetimes, with the loss never healing, and here he is, alive once more.

Arthur.

He looks Merlin up and down in disbelief before stepping into the flat. Merlin closes the door behind him, and has to take a moment to blink back the tears before he turns around. Arthur is stood in the middle of his living room, looking around in some kind of mixture of horror and awe at the books and the television and the appliances in the kitchen. He fixes his eyes on Merlin and exhales a little, before taking an aborted step towards him. He stops abruptly, furrowing his eyebrows before taking another look around the flat.

“I don’t-” Arthur begins. Merlin could sob at finally hearing his voice again. “Camlann, and the lake, you-” He swallows and looks at the floor. “I was dead.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, taking an instinctive step forward, but Arthur holds up a hand.

“I was dead and you-” he looks up. “Magic, you have … is that why? Did you …” 

“Arthur please-”

“I can’t- **I can’t think straight with you!** I- I need-” He’s searching around the room in a disoriented manner, and Merlin has to clench his hands at his sides to stop himself from reaching out. “Where’s Guinevere?” Arthur asks, finally looking up at him.

Merlin has to press his lips together and shake his head. He can’t- The prophecy said Arthur would rise again, that he would unite Albion, and him alone. The others, all those Merlin watched grow old and die (again, and again, and again - lifetime after lifetime - friend after friend) have no prophecy, no great destiny to defy even death. They’re just gone, will remain gone. Even talking about them is to relive the loss. 

“Arthur, I can explain, _please_ -”

“What is this place?” Arthur’s questions sound like demands now, tinged with a sharp desperation. “Where am I? I woke, and a voice, it led me here?” He fixes Merlin with another cutting look. “Was it you? Was it your-” He chokes on the word as he tries to say it again.

Merlin can feel the tears welling in his eyes. He knew, he _knew_ it would be like this. He knew it would hurt this much to have Arthur back, but not. Merlin’s Arthur died a long time ago, and Arthur’s Merlin died with him. This is perverse, unnatural, whatever _destiny_ might say. He had wanted to avoid it, avoid this: these questions he can’t answer and the look of suspicion in Arthur’s eyes. He once said no man was worth Merlin’s tears, but he’s been spilling them for Arthur for as long as he can remember, and this is no exception.

“Please,” he begs, barely above a whisper. “You told me you didn’t want me to change, and I haven’t. I’m still me, Arthur, I’m still here to help you just-”

It’s a horrible lie. Merlin has never been the same, not since the lake, not since losing him, but in this moment he’ll tell Arthur anything, anything at all to get him to stop looking at him like that with so much distrust - near hatred. Merlin recognises the emotion, has seen it on his own face many a time in Arthur’s absence, a mockery in the mirror. He’s shaking. He thinks Arthur might be, too, and he has no idea what to do now, no Kilgharrah to lead him. He’s been on his own for centuries, and even with Arthur standing in front of him, he’s not felt alone until this second here.

“Please,” he says again. “Let me help you.”

He doesn’t know how. Doesn’t even know if he can, but the only purpose he’s ever had has been to help Arthur. He doesn’t see why he should stop now. Arthur stares at him a moment before his face crumples and he lets out a sob that almost doesn’t sound human. Merlin rushes forward to him, to hold him or hit him (or kiss him), he doesn’t know. To touch him, feel that he’s real and maybe give some comfort in return. But Arthur holds out a hand, and swallows hard until that awful, impassive expression paints his face again.

“No,” he says, breathy and coarse. “Just-” he clenches the fist that’s still held out to keep Merlin back, and scrunches up his face. “Don’t.”

Merlin feels like he can’t breathe. He stands awkwardly as Arthur lowers his arm, and stumbles towards the arm chair. He falls backwards into it like he’s exhausted, and sits with his arms on the sides, staring forward with his eyebrows creased. Merlin stands at his side, a twisted remembrance of the throne room in Camelot. Merlin’s tears are still falling, and Arthur is unmoving, and he wants to scream, shout, make Arthur see or hear or _something_. But he doesn’t know, has never really known, can’t- He can’t. 

For all these lonely centuries he’s dreamed of having Arthur back, here, home. A painful yearning has built a cage around his heart so that no one else could ever come close. Now Arthur is back, everything Merlin has ever wanted, but neither of them are the same, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. There’s no spell for this. There’s no potion to brew. He clenches his fists at his sides and waits for Arthur to speak, or move. He’s waited this long, he reasons, what’s, say, a lifetime more?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> if you wanna leave a comment or a kudos they're much appreciated! especially let me know if there's something you think i forgot to tag! 
> 
> i'm taking prompts! if you're interested please drop the prompt in the comments below. if you do send a prompt be prepared for me to take fifty years to fill it because uni is so hard, but i promise i'll try! come say hi on tumblr: [@maddy-does](https://maddy-does.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading, have a wonderful existence.


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